


it had to be you

by Hugabug



Series: you make me feel like there are songs to be sung [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Long-Distance Relationship, Multi, Reunions, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, all over again because I like soft things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: "Some others I've seenMight never be meanMight never be cross, or try to be bossBut they wouldn't doFor nobody else gave me a thrillWith all your faults, I love you stillIt had to be you, wonderful youIt had to be you."-Frank Sinatra,It Had To Be You





	it had to be you

**Author's Note:**

> again, part of the 1950s Actors AU.
> 
> if you can spot all the references to various 1950s crooner/jazz and current coffee shop jazz songs I adore, I will love you forever.

_Ryan Bergara._  
  
It’s been three years since he’s heard that name said by someone else’s lips.  
  
Yet here Shane is, pacing in his private quarters, running fingers through his hair, doing everything he could to calm himself down. In his chest, his heart palpitates, thunders along with the roaring of blood in his ears, and his mind races along lines in letters he’s memorized. Words he’s fallen asleep to. Laughter he somehow hears, even through paper and ink.  
  
It’s been three years, and it’s crazy, he knows. But three years of pen and paper and waiting and rereading of letters hasn’t erased a thing. Three years, and he’s still very much in love.  
  
Ryan Bergara. The man who was Shane’s as much as Shane was his.  
  
“You ready, big guy?”  
  
“I… I don’t know.” Shane stutters, stopping short in his well worn track to face his director and dearest friend. Sara smiles at him, knowingly, and tilts her head to the side. “Is he here already? Is my hair ok?”  
  
“Yes, and no.” Sara replies with a roll of her eyes. Entering the room and shutting the door behind her, Shane watches as she steps forward and reaches up to right his collar and tie. Her deft fingers clean him up as best she can, and in a matter of minutes, he looks more put together than he had when he woke this morning. Sara grins. “Much better.”  
  
“Thank you,” he tells her, earnestly. “I– I don’t want to ruin this for you.”  
  
“The only way you can ruin this for me is to not act like yourself,” Sara tells him, taking his arm and leading him out of his dressing room. “I need that raw chemistry, Shane. I love Eugene, but god knows his charm is only so much. Kelsey too. Let’s face it, Tinsel town’s fresh out of stars. The walls need to come a’fallin’, baby.” She chuckles. “Besides, don’t you think it’s about time Hollywood had a sweet love story?”  
  
Shane opens his mouth to protest– _let’s not get too hasty_ , he wants to say. _I lost him once_. To whirlwind romance too passionate for two young actors climbing up the competitive tiers of Broadway and Hollywood together. Late nights and long distance had created a chasm between them that seemingly couldn’t be remedied by anything. When they had parted, the fire they ignited in each other had left them with ashes in their wake. God knows that there was love there, and god knows Shane had held on to Ryan’s hands as tight as he could on that train platform, three years ago. But god knows that they weren’t ready. And they didn’t know if they ever will be.  
  
The following week after that had been hell, the heat of the merciless California summer making Shane’s mid-western sensibilities shrivel up and die as he lay awake in bed, mulling over what was possibly the biggest mistake of his life. It was an odd position to be in-- as if he had been returned to that middle ground of having your heart belong to someone, but still remaining unsure whether or not they want it.  
  
A day after that week, Ryan’s first letter appeared in his mail box.  
  
It had been a new beginning. Another chance. Shane had seized it with both hands and read it all. It had only been one page long, written in a writing both jaunty and chicken scratchy, but Shane had kept it and reread it in between auditions. Traced the ink that scrawled across a cream page. Chipped off the old-timey wax seal on the flap. That night, he’d taken out his well worn writing box and set out to write Ryan back.  
  
Three years of that, of letters twice a week, and not a single face to face meeting. What does he look like now? Does he still smile like the sun? Do his words match his actions? His face? His gaze? Does he love as he had loved, all those years ago? Shane swallows down his protest. Suddenly, the butterflies in his stomach silence him.  
  
Sara notices. "Relax, big guy,” she says. They come to a stop before the door that leads to the main lobby of their studio. From the other side, strains of Ella Fitzgerald croon in smooth, explosive notes. The music does little to calm him down, but his body involuntarily sways forward anyway. The melody and the promise of something more pulling him in like a magnet.  
  
“You ready?” Sara asks, squeezing his elbow.  
  
Shane gulps. “As I’ll ever be.”

* * *

“You’re shaking so much.”  
  
Ryan doesn’t have it in him to retort. This, of course, makes Helen laugh. They’re by the refreshments table, trying to gather some nerves together to make a good impression. She has her fingers in the pocket of his dress jacket, trying her best to fix the little pocket square he’d shoved in there earlier this afternoon and he moves only at her command. He still isn’t used to this amount of decadence in his wardrobe, only having shot through the ranks of fame about a year prior, so a lot of his dressing routine still falls to Helen, even if her job is to keep his assets and his contracts in check. He watches her fix what he had failed to do so awhile ago, and wonders if she has some sort of secret power he is not aware of.  
  
It’s a silly notion, but it keeps his mind off… other. Things.  
  
“Relax,” Helen tells him, hands on his shoulders as she looks at him up and down. “You look so handsome.”  
  
“Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” Ryan asks her, gesturing at his ensemble worriedly. “I don’t want him to–”  
  
“Are you doubting my abilities now, Bergara?” she glares at him.  
  
Ryan gulps. “No, ma'am.”  
  
“Mm, that’s what I thought you said.” Helen grins, returning to dusting off some imaginary dirt from his shoulders. He lets her, again falling into routine, and for a split second, everything is alright, before–  
  
Helen catches someone’s eye from behind him, and without blinking, she picks up a flute of champagne and shoves it at him in a silent order to drink.  
  
“Sara!” she calls, waving. A thrill travels down Ryan’s spine. If Sara is here, then– “And Shane! Oh, it’s been so long!”  
  
Helen leaves him with a wink, and Ryan drinks.  
  
His chest is tight as he swallows down the alcohol, his pulse pounding in his ears. If he hadn't been shaking before, then he was definitely shaking now. He puts down his glass and contemplates picking up another one when a laugh, explosive and musical, resounds from behind him.  
  
"It's five in the afternoon and you've started already? What happened to pacing yourself, Mr. Bergara?"  
  
Ryan manages a laugh. "I can never get away with anything when it comes to you." A deep breath. Then, he turns. "It's so good to see you, Sara."  
  
Sara beams at him, eyes sparkling in delight and Ryan can't help but smile right back, going in for a hug when she offers. She smells sweet, like vanilla in a warm mug of milk— soothing and calm all at once. He takes a deep whiff of it, trying to steady his nerves, and lets go.  
  
And looks up.  
  
Instantly, a smile stretches across his face, making his eyes crinkle with a giddy delight he hasn't felt in years. Standing here, in a crowded room, blood roaring in his ears in time with the music and chatter, Ryan meets remarkable brown eyes and takes in the infuriatingly charming twinkle that greets him there. Shane looks... good. Like he hasn't changed. He's still eight feet tall. He still slouches. He still smiles like he has all the light in the universe condensed in one moment on his face. In his chest, Ryan's heart seizes.  
  
"Ryan," Shane says, a little breathless. Ryan smiles wider, and something, somewhere in the universe, clicks backs into place. "Hi."  
  
Ryan laughs. "Hi," he says. He takes a step forward, but stops, feeling his ears burn as he quickly looks to the floor to compose himself. Was a hug too fast? A handshake too distant? He can't decide. Instead, he looks back up from under his lashes and scratches the nape of his neck. "You... You shaved your mustache."  
  
Shane blinks. "Y-Yeah," he replies, reaching up to scratch at the 5 o'clock shadow he has on his chin. "The same face, though."  
  
Ryan laughs. "My favorite face."  
  
And Shane isn't one to blush, not from what Ryan remembers, but Shane blushes now, a light pink that dusts across his cheeks as his smile widens. It's a new development, if only a little jarring. Ryan likes it.  
  
Helen clears her throat. "Ryan, is there something you want to say to Sara?"  
  
Ryan startles, dragging his eyes from Shane with a little difficulty. He meets Sara's expectant expression and smiles, sheepishly, taking her hands and squeezing them tight.  
  
"Thank you, for considering me." he tells her, earnestly.  
  
Sara frowns, taking her hands from him to put them on her hips. "Are you kidding me? Of course!" she says. "I couldn't have imagined any one else. Right, Helen? Please tell me you told him that."  
  
"I told him all that and then some." Helen laughs. She has her arm intertwined with Sara's and Ryan thinks that the both of them have the potential to be the most feared duo in all of Hollywood. He gulps as both his director and manager titter at each other in excitement. "Not that I needed much persuasion to get him on board."  
  
Ryan flushes. "Helen."  
  
"Oh, really?" Sara laughs. "You're a sneaky minx, Ms. Pan, I knew I liked you for a reason."  
  
"Please, stop."  
  
"Only teasing, Ryan." Sara grins at him, then up at Shane with an added wink. Shane flushes, too. "Now, I'm going to borrow your manager for a little while. I've been dreaming of this moment since the casting director sent in your headshot."  
  
"I'm flattered you dream of me," Helen laughs, kissing Sara's cheek then reaching over to squeeze Ryan's arm. "You think you can survive without me for an evening?"  
  
Ryan goes to answer, opening his mouth, but a hand lays itself on the small of his back, cautiously, like it's not sure if it's allowed there just yet. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Shane, staring at him with eyes gauging the situation-- Ryan smiles at him, and that seems to be all he needs, because he holds on to Ryan a little firmer.  
  
"I'll take care of him," he promises Helen. A thrill runs down Ryan's spine, pooling around the heat of Shane's hand, and Ryan leans into his touch. "What time do I have to return him?"  
  
"What're you, teenagers?" Helen asks, raising an eyebrow. She shakes her head, grinning wide. "Just be on set on time tomorrow. Three in the afternoon, right?”  
  
Sara nods. “Right.” she says, before turning back to them. “What you do until then is up to you."  
  
With that, she tugs Helen away, sharing a conspiratorial giggle between them, and suddenly Ryan is all alone with the man he loves.  
  
Well, almost all alone.  
  
"Hey," he says, turning. Shane doesn't let him go, like Ryan had thought he would, so in the end he has his arm around Ryan's waist, pulling him close almost out of habit. Ryan doesn't mind. He puts a hand on the flank of Shane's arm, gently, stares up at eyes that look at him like he'd hung the moon. It steals the air from his lungs— he struggles to speak for a moment. "Wanna get out of here?"  
  
Shane breathes out a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

The night goes the way it always does with the both of them— slowly and sweetly, the black-blue of the sky burned away by the soft, florescent glow of the street lamps and the sound of their laughter. It's so good to hear them resound together again, instead of encouraged by silent words of ink on a piece of paper, and having each other so close leaves them both tipsy without having had a sip of alcohol. They walk down the boulevard, holding and eating small sandwiches they've bought at a little hole in the wall deli, and it's a walk in silence, with the occasional quiet joke, the ever present wheezy giggles. Their shoulders bump from time to time, and their free hands cling to each other by the fingers, hooked casually, loosely, together, the warmth between them enough to send both reeling with that well known feeling of bliss.  
  
“My quarters are near here,” Ryan says after a moment, pointing to the street lamp at the corner that shines directly into the bend leading to the steps of his apartment building. The sight of the end leaves them both uneasy, looking up into the sky as the moon sinks lower and lower. How late has it become? They've lost track of the time and they don't want it to end, willing the celestial path of the stars to stay where they are a little longer as their feet carried them closer and closer to their destination.  
  
Soon, too soon, they're at a door, a door only one of them can enter, and the sandwiches in their hands are long gone.  
  
Shane hesitates. “I—” he begins. Ryan looks up at him, expectantly, and Shane watches the light play with the shadows across his face, the slopes and dips of his cheeks. He steps closer and Ryan does the same, crowding into his space, their ribs expanding against the other with every little breath. It's natural, this rhythm of theirs. Out of practice, but natural. They're beginning to fall back into the flow, into the melody that makes them them, and the thought of it should be terrifying. Should ward them off with memories of hurt and pain and anger that paralyzes them in their tracks. But when Shane pushes forward, Ryan pulls him along, hands reaching out over a gap slowly closing. Now that they know what it's like to be apart, they're sure they never want to be again.  
  
Ryan intertwines their fingers. Shane squeezes his hand.  
  
“I'll see you tomorrow?” Shane says, feeling a smile crack across his cheeks.  
  
Ryan smiles right back. Wider, sweeter, than any other smile he has smiled in the years he's been away. “You will,” he affirms, swaying forward on his tip toes. “Good night, big guy.”  
  
He presses a kiss to the seam of Shane's mouth and Shane chases after him when he pulls away. A simple peck to the lips turns into a kiss, a long meeting between two mouths that had missed and yearned but were united once more, and when they part, they part only at one point, their foreheads still connected, their hands on each other's cheeks, every breath mingling just in what little space there is between their noses.  
  
“In your last letter you said,” Ryan starts, peering up at Shane, shy, beneath his lashes. They're so close, Shane's eyes look like pools of brownie mix, warm and fond— seeing them brings him back to a place so much safer than home. “'I want to see you face to face,' do you remember?”  
  
Shane nods, tongue heavy in his mouth. Yes. He remembers. He remembers writing that in a haze of alcohol, heart pounding in his chest when his fingers wrapped around his pen, arms empty and searching for the only warm body he'd ever want to fill them. Ryan, he had thought. It had to be Ryan. It has always been Ryan.  
  
“You don't know how happy I was when I read that,” Ryan tells him now, each word a wisp of breath, leaving his lungs as if to give up room for the joy he feels pulsing in his torso. “How excited I was to know that you still want this. That after everything, you still want—”  
  
Shane kisses him silent. Then again. Then again.  
  
When they pull apart, they breathe each other in and they smell of onions and pickle relish but they don't care. Ryan runs his thumb over Shane's bottom lip. Shane kisses it in return.  
  
"I don't want you to go," Ryan sighs, a lamentation that sinks into their bones and lets them feel the ache of three years spent apart. Now that they've returned into each other's arms, it's almost like they can't get enough. "Can I... Can we...?"  
  
Words stutter for a moment before he lets out a shuddering breath that stills them on his tongue. Shane kisses him again, attempts to fish the rest of that sentence out with the brush of his lips. And just like in his letters, Ryan opens up to him, warm and welcoming and familiar and steady, a delicious mix of happy cradled in the heat of his hands.  
  
They part once more with some difficulty, both chasing each other's mouths, alternating, again and again when they think the other has strayed too far. It becomes a game, to see who can snatch what and how much, and soon they lose count, laughing at the silliness only they two can cultivate.  
  
"Sit with me," Ryan pleads, pressing them cheek to cheek, still holding Shane close because he can't get enough. "Right here, on the steps, like we did on the props backstage and in between scenes."  
  
"Until when?" Shane asks in a soft murmur.  
  
"Until you get sick of me."  
  
"Forever, then."  
  
They sit, close, Shane's arm slung around Ryan's shoulders, Ryan's smile pressed into the crook of Shane's neck, and though the night may be old, it still manages to pull from them numerous laughs, sounds that travel up to the heavens, twin bursts of joy happily and irrevocably intertwined. Together again. At last.  



End file.
